“Through the sequester’d vale of rural life The venerable patriarch guileless held The tenor of his way.”

One murder made a villain, Millions a hero. Princes were privileged To kill, and numbers sanctified the crime.

War its thousands slays, Peace its ten thousands.

But chiefly Thou, Whom soft-eyed Pity once led down from Heaven To bleed for man, to teach him how to live, And, oh! still harder lesson! how to die.

The joy resulting from the diffusion of blessings to all around us is the purest and sublimest that can ever enter the human mind, and can be conceived only by those who have experienced it.

Bad thoughts quickly ripen into bad actions.

Next to the consolations of divine grace, it is the most sovereign balm to the miseries of life, both in him who is the object of it, and in him who exercises it.

Love is something so divine, Description would but make it less; ‘Tis what I feel, but can’t define, ‘Tis what I know but can’t express

One murder makes a villian, millions a hero

An artist must be a reactionary. He has to stand out against the tenor of the age and not go flopping along.

The tenor of my life has been the opposite of everything that is vile, and no man can lay any such thing to my charge.

Water and air He for the Tenor chose, Earth made the Base, the Treble Fame arose,